


till all the seas gang dry

by thewalrus_said



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Asexual Character, Don't copy to another site, Episode 160 AU, Fluff, Good Cows, Hunter!Daisy, If I Will Not Get a Happy Ending Then By God I Will Make One, M/M, Martin Stays and Hits Jon With a Brick, Scotland Safehouse, Tea, Web!Martin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23091919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewalrus_said/pseuds/thewalrus_said
Summary: The recorder appeared as the kettle began to whistle. Martin nodded at it and said, “You look peckish. Gonna nosh, then?”Jon raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking of it, yes.”“Do you mind if I...” Martin trailed off, mixing the frankly unholy amount of sugar Jon preferred into the first mug. “Sorry, it’s silly.”“Martin.” Jon leveled a Look at him. “What?”Martin blushed, pushing the cup over to Jon. “Well, it’s just... It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you read a statement, is all.”(Jon and Martin avert a crisis, see some good cows, reveal some truths, and help a friend.)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 40
Kudos: 422





	till all the seas gang dry

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up five minutes before the last season with fix-it fluff* Can I be in the fandom now?

They settled into Scotland with relative ease, although Jon thought it prudent to stay indoors most of the time while Martin took care of food and supplies in the village. Too much risk of running into someone, and he was still not sure he would be able to resist compelling a statement from them, after the drain of being in the Lonely. He was starving by the time the box from Basira arrived, but arrive it did, and Martin set it on the table and went about making the tea.

The recorder appeared as the kettle began to whistle. Martin nodded at it and said, “You look peckish. Gonna nosh, then?”

Jon raised an eyebrow. “I was thinking of it, yes.”

“Do you mind if I...” Martin trailed off, mixing the frankly unholy amount of sugar Jon preferred into the first mug. “Sorry, it’s silly.”

“Martin.” Jon leveled a Look at him. “What?”

Martin blushed, pushing the cup over to Jon. “Well, it’s just... It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you read a statement, is all.”

Jon blinked. “Oh. You... want to stay while I do it?”

“Only if you don’t mind!” Martin said quickly. “I totally understand if you’d rather privacy, of course. Wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“No, no.” Jon picked up the tea, looking down into its warm brown depths. “Actually, it’s... it’s rather nice, having someone not treat it like I’m eating a baby or something.”

Martin sighed. “I love Basira and Melanie, but they’re not very sensitive, are they?”

“I wouldn’t say so, no.”

Martin fixed himself his own cup of tea and went to settle onto the sofa. Jon turned around in his kitchen chair, dragging the recorder a little closer to himself. He reached into the box on the table and pulled out the first piece of paper his fingers found. “Right. Shall I begin, then?” Martin gestured with his mug for him to go on. “Statement of Hazel Rutter regarding a fire in her childhood home. Original statement given August 9th, 1992. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins.

“Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself. I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private.” Jon looked up at Martin as he read; Martin had set his cup down and was on the edge of the sofa, watching in horror. Jon’s eyes dragged themselves against his will from Martin’s gaping face back to the page. “I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself.” Jon was trying everything he could; he could feel the veins standing out in his neck, but he couldn’t stop reading. “So just listen. Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

“Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, The Archivist. Statement begins.”

Before Jon could read another word, pain exploded in the back of his head and he knew nothing but black.

Jon woke on what he slowly realized was the sofa, the world swimming into place around him. As he opened his eyes, he took in Martin, seated in the overstuffed armchair opposite him, reading a sheet of paper. The box of statements was on the floor next to him. In the grate, a warm fire crackled.

“What happened?” Jon ground out, blinking as his vision spun.

Martin looked up. “Jon!” He darted out of the chair and knelt in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

“Head hurts,” Jon mumbled. He reached up to rub the back of his head, and found that his hair was sticky with dried blood. “What happened to the statement?”

“I burned it,” Martin said firmly, his round face creasing into seriousness.

“Did you read it?”

Martin shook his head. “Didn’t want to give Elias-  _ Jonah _ the satisfaction.”

Jon pushed himself upright, groaning as his stomach churned. “How did you stop me reading?”

Martin’s face twisted. “I, uh... I hit you with a brick,” he said very fast. “I’m sorry! But I couldn’t think how else to stop you, so I had to knock you out.”

“A brick?” Jon stared at him. “Where did you get a brick?”

“I don’t know! I just saw it sat in the corner.” Martin pointed; there was indeed a brick sitting in the corner, a red stain down one edge. “Do you really doubt Daisy would have random bricks in her safehouses?”

“I suppose not.” Jon rubbed the back of his head again. “Good thinking.” Martin gave him a shaky smile. “How long was I out?”

“Three quarters of an hour. I was starting to get worried I hit you too hard.” Martin stood and went back to his seat. “I’ve been through the rest of the statements, they all seem safe enough. Do you need one?”

“Mmm, might help.” Martin passed him a stapled sheaf of paper; a tape recorder manifested next to him on the sofa. “And, um, Martin?”

“Yes, Jon?”

“Another cup of tea for when I’m done wouldn’t go amiss. If you don’t mind, of course,” he hastened to add.

Martin rocketed out of the armchair like it was on fire.

——

“Oh, oh, Martin, look over there,” Jon said, pointing with the hand that wasn’t holding Martin’s.

“What? Oh, oof,” Martin said, spinning and squinting. “That’s a proper cow, that is,  _ look _ at her.”

“Absolute unit,” Jon said. Martin gave him a completely staggered look. “What? I know memes! Why does everyone assume I don’t know memes?”

“It’s like hearing my grandpa say ‘woke,’” Martin said. Jon pouted at him. Martin kissed his cheek. “I love you even though you’re eighty years old, Jon.”

“Kids these days,” Jon grumbled. Martin laughed, and Jon felt a definite warmth spread through his chest at the sound.

They made it back to the cottage, only having to stop three more times to ogle at truly monstrous bovine creatures. Martin unloaded their shopping into the cabinets and fridge while Jon set the kettle to boiling. “What did Mrs. Peters want?” Jon asked over the sound of the whistle. “She had you at her gate for ages.”

“Oh, her Tanya’s off to graduate school,” Martin said, balling up the tote bags and stowing them under the sink. “Marine biology. It’s not interacting well with Mrs. Peters’ fear of shrimp, poor thing, she’s worried about her.”

Jon wrinkled his nose. “Which of the Fourteen d’you suppose shrimp fall into?”

“I was thinking the Hive? Mrs. Peters certainly thinks of them as pests.”

“Or the Flesh, I suppose,” Jon replied. He handed a completed cup of tea to Martin, who accepted it with a forehead kiss. “Although I don’t really think of shrimp as meat.”

“Mmm.” Martin dove face-first into his tea, leaving Jon to putter about the kitchen. “Are you hungry?” he asked, emerging briefly.

“You know talking about the Flesh always makes me hungry,” Jon said, waggling his eyebrows. Martin rolled his eyes. “Yes, actually, I was going to get started on dinner.”

“Sounds lovely. I’ll get out of your way, then, shall I?”

Martin moved to leave the kitchen but Jon caught him by the elbow. “I like it when you’re in my way.”

“Sweet,” Martin murmured. “Alright, I’ll stay. What’re you making?”

“We’ve got what we need for a primavera, so I was thinking I’d flex,” Jon said.

Martin picked up an oven mitt and threw it at him. “Stop saying memes! It’s physically painful for me.”

“Or we could just Netflix and chill?”

“Fuck  _ off!” _

——

The knowledge came one day, just appeared in his head as he looked at Martin brushing his teeth. Jon had known it would, had been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since Martin had stopped him reading Jonah’s statement. Their life in Scotland was  _ good, _ too good to last, and when the Knowing settled into his stomach like a hot rock, he almost laughed.

He did laugh, humorless and dry, and Martin spat and looked over to him. “Something funny about the way I brush my teeth?”

“No, nothing,” Jon said. “Just, come here?”

Martin dried his face and came to sit next to him on the bed. “What’s up?”

Jon took his hand. He was scared, and now when he was scared he turned to Martin for comfort. Even when it was Martin he was scared of, apparently. He was silent for a few minutes, and Martin let him be, holding his hand and watching him carefully. “I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy,” Jon finally said, staring at where their hands lay interlaced on the duvet. “I didn’t  _ want _ to know, I just... I just  _ knew. _ And now I can’t un-know it.”

“Okay,” Martin said slowly, a quaver in his voice. “What is it that you know?” Jon looked up at him, met his gaze full-on. “Oh. Jon, I’m so sorry —”

Jon waved his words aside. “I just... I just need to know that you weren’t lying about... about  _ this. _ About us.”

“I’d never,” Martin said immediately. “Jon, I’d never, I love you so much and that’s real, that’s true.”

“Okay,” Jon said. “Okay.” He laughed again, a helpless little chuckle that burbled up from deep inside him, where the new knowledge sat. “I trust you.”

Tears were falling from Martin’s eyes now, and he brushed them away almost angrily. “I’ll tell you,” he said. “I’ll tell you everything.”

“You don’t have to —”

“I want to,” Martin said firmly. “I’ll give you a statement. You need a fresh one, don’t you, all those prewritten ones are like eating MREs. Look,” and he picked up the tape recorder that was suddenly sitting next to them. “Look, it wants me to.”

Jon took the tape recorder and caught his gaze again. “I won’t make you.”

“I want to,” Martin repeated. “You should know, you  _ deserve _ to know, and I want to tell you.”

“Alright,” Jon said. “Alright.” He turned the tape recorder on. “Statement of Martin Blackwood, taken direct from subject, 3rd December, 2018, regarding how he came to serve the Web. Statement begins.”

Martin started talking.

When he was done, Jon silently turned the tape recorder off. Martin was crying again, and when Jon reached up to wipe his face he realized he was too. The new statement was already coursing through his veins, filling him with energy, but more than that he was  _ tired, _ just so, so tired. He tossed the tape recorder aside and tipped forward until his head was nestled in Martin’s shoulder. Martin wrapped his arms around him and they sat there, quiet and together.

——

It was fitting, sort of, that she found them at New Year’s. New year, new start, Jon told himself as they turned the corner towards what he’d started thinking of as  _ their _ little cottage and found its true owner sitting on the front steps.

Her head snapped towards them as they came into view and she got to her feet. Jon squeezed Martin’s hand and then let go, taking a careful step forward. She held still as he approached, but as he got closer he could see it was taking a prodigious effort; her hands were balled into fists and every muscle in her legs was straining. He looked up at her face. It was flickering in the dim evening light, mouth protruding into a snout and then sucking back in, and there were the faintest hint of wolf-like ears at the top of her head. “Help me,” she hissed, and then let out a deep, feral growl and charged him.

“Martin, get the brick!” Jon shouted before she rammed into him and they both went down.

It turned out even a Hunter wasn’t immune to a blunt object to the back of the head, and they managed to drag her inside and tie her down before she woke up. Jon’s shoulder and neck healed relatively quickly, but his shirt and jacket were both drenched in blood. “Gonna have to burn these,” he said, grimacing.

“Go change,” Martin said, “and have a shower. I’ll watch her.”

“You’ll be alright on your own?”

Martin nodded, not looking away from her. “As far as she knows, I’m human and unaligned. If she’s anything like she was before, I won’t register as a threat. If I’m wrong, well.” He hefted the brick. “At least I’m armed. Go on.”

Jon went, and took the fastest shower of his life before dressing in clothes he wouldn’t mind losing and racing back down the stairs. Daisy was still unconscious, stretched out on the sturdy, heavy kitchen table, arms and legs firmly lashed in place. “Should we call Basira?” Martin asked him when he came back in.

Jon shook his head. “Not without Daisy’s consent.”

“Right.” Martin sighed, then carefully picked his way around the table and put the kettle on.

In the end, Martin was asleep when Daisy woke up, passed out on the sofa with the brick still in his hand. She stirred, groaning, and Jon tightened his grip on the longest knife they’d been able to find in the kitchen. Her eyelids fluttered open and she took in Jon. “Are you in control of yourself?” Jon asked, quietly so as not to wake Martin.

He watched as she assessed herself. “For the moment,” she said. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nothing that hasn’t already healed,” he assured her. “I’m made of sturdy stuff these days.”

She snarled instinctively and then shut her eyes, breathing hard. “Best not to remind me about that.”

“Right, right, sorry.”

After a few moments she mastered herself and looked at him again. “Have you called Basira?”

“Didn’t want to without asking you first, but I think we should.”

Daisy shook her head as best she could against the table. “I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“Daisy, you need all your ties to humanity right now,” Jon said gently. He set the knife on the counter and moved forward, stopping out of arms’ reach but closer than he had been. “Basira’s what kept you human the first time you were fighting this.”

“I was  _ barely _ human the first time I was fighting this,” Daisy retorted, “and then I spent so long being weak and pathetic around her.”

“You weren’t  _ weak and pathetic, _ you were in withdrawal, and you were still one of the strongest people I’ve ever known.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “One of?”

“Well, Martin.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh god, Martin, did I—”

Jon shook his head quickly. “He’s fine, he’s asleep just over there.” She relaxed. “Daisy,” he said, and she looked at him. “Let us call Basira. You need all the help you can get, but you  _ will _ get through this, I promise you.”

She stared at him for a few tense moments and then sighed. “Alright. You’re right. Call her.”

Jon woke Martin and was down the hill in a blink, making for the village and its precious cell phone signal. Basira answered on the second ring despite it being half two in the morning. “We’ve got her,” Jon said as soon as the call connected.

“How is she?”

“She’s in control of herself for now. We’ve got her tied down, I left Martin with her.”

“I’ll be there in eight hours.” Basira hung up.

Basira brought an armored truck with her, and they loaded Daisy into the back, tied hand and foot and a gag stuffed in her mouth. Jon stayed well out of it, leaving Basira and Martin to do the grunt work; Daisy had nearly taken his hand off with her teeth when he tried to help. Basira came back in once she was safely stowed. “She wants to talk to you. Stay out of sight,” she warned.

“I’m not an idiot,” Jon sighed. He walked the long way around the truck, leaning up against the side near the open back end. “Daisy?”

“Jon?” she called, her voice echoing around the empty truck. “I just wanted to say... Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said sincerely. “You’re going to be alright. We’ll come and visit you as soon as Basira thinks it’s safe.”

“Good.”

“Although fair warning, I may try to buy this place off you when we do.”

She laughed weakly, the sound barely making it around the wall. “If I make it through this, Sims, you can have it.”

“I’ll hold you to that. Safe travels.” He banged the side of the truck and went back inside. “Drive safe,” he said as Basira passed him on her way out. She nodded to him sharply and left.

Martin flopped down on the sofa next to him when they were out of sight, letting out a long, drawn-out sigh. “Think they’ll make it to Wales alright?”

“They’ll be fine,” Jon said. “No direct stimuli to set her off, and she’s with Basira besides. As long as Basira doesn’t drive the truck off the road, they should make it okay.”

Martin fiddled with a loose thread on Jon’s sweatpants. “And after?”

Jon wrapped an arm around him and leaned them both back. “She’s beaten this before, she can do it again. It may be a long time before we can reintroduce her to society, but she’ll be alright.”

Martin laughed. “How are you still an optimist, after everything that’s happened?”

“I’m not an  _ optimist,” _ Jon said, a little offended. “I just have a strong belief in the restorative powers of humanity.” He sobered. “I have to.”

Martin patted his knee. “You’ll be okay too, Jon,” he murmured, drowsy after their interrupted night.

And somehow, despite the fact that he’d regrown half a shoulder the day before, despite the fact that cravings for a fresh statement crawled up the back of his throat like a spider every time he saw a new person, despite  _ everything... _ Jon believed him.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [Tumblr](http://thewalrus-said.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://twitter.com/thewalrus_said)!


End file.
